Contracts to False Stars
by L'alouette.blanche
Summary: In a world where people gain the power of gods in exchange for their souls, where stars fall with their deaths, where Dolls look but do not see, something has fallen from the false sky. And so the Race Begins. Multiple pairings: PruHun,RussiaxUS,GerIta..
1. Chapter 1: A New Constellation Rises

**A Look through the Doll's Eyes**: This is a crossover with Darker than Black. I take no part, but must relate what I've seen, so someone can learn from our mistakes. I try to explain most things, but, things you should know: Contractors have special powers but must pay remuneration for using them. These can be any simple action from drinking something to drawing something, or more serious like self-mutilation. Contractors are said to be soulless, or at least unable to connect emotionally and have no empathy. For each contractor there is a specific star, and once that contractor dies, the star falls. There are also Dolls, which have lost their personality totally and can look through mediums, like glass or water. They are used as spies and sentries, and communicate through specters that they send out through their mediums. I am what you would call a Doll, though my power differs from most. I have even fewer faculties in my own world; I can't even mouth out dull replies to basic questions. But, I see more than they can ever know. I can see through eyes, not my own, but I can see through yours, through theirs, through dead eyes and eyes made of stone. I lost myself for this gift, but I gained more than my own world, for I gained yours as well, and it is yours that I am trying to save, for mine is already lost.

A New Constellation Rises

Each step you take opens up doors; each action creates new worlds. They unfold and crash down on you, millions every second, and you don't even know. You can't realize how many "yous" there really are, trailing worlds behind them like broken wings. Your weak eyes can only see one of these fractured worlds. But my eyes are blind to my own world; they can see everything. I can see your world, and mine too. I am trapped in my own skin, caged within brittle bones and useless flesh. My hands can touch but not feel; my ears can hear but not comprehend. But, my useless eyes can see everything, and so much they have seen. I have a story to tell, if you'll listen. I am no one's hero, no one's villain. No one knows my name, not even myself. But I do have stories to tell. Sit down now. Close your eyes. Feel the worlds between each breath; that tingling on your fingertips, that breath of wind on your neck. The worlds are closer than you think. Close your eyes and listen.

You'll want me to start off at the beginning, won't you; to point you to a starting line and shout go. But, there is never a true beginning, there is always a before. My world works that way and so does yours. There are so many threads to our web, and we have to stand so far to see them intertwining. But, we have to start somewhere don't we? We should start with a world at least, one close enough to yours. It is a world where men have the power of gods in exchange for their souls, where the moon is swallowed in a sky of false stars, where eyes stare through water and glass and have no mouths to speak. This is my world, though I am only an observer. We'll start with Pandora I think, close enough to Hell for the Contractors to flock. They are drawn to Hell as they were to Heaven, before that path was closed.

This is a world devoid of hope, where Contractors are given powers in exchange for their very humanity. Dolls sit motionless, searching for a life torn away. Every country has been thrown into chaos as Heaven's Gate is swallowed; Contractors wage war on their human brothers. Stars fall with every death. And above it all sits Hell's Gate, where every wish is granted with a price. Everything with a price. Something has fallen from this false sky and all eyes are drawn to it. Let the race begin. We have many people to meet, and not much time before the stars start to fall.


	2. The Lost Boy

Alfred leaned against the rusty oil drum resting on the roof of his dingy apartment building. _Welcome to Pandora, yeah right_. He dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his bomber jacket to keep out the late fall chill. It was the only thing he'd managed to take from home, before the fire swallowed up everything he'd ever known. But, hell, he was due for an adventure anyways. If only it wasn't so damn cold. These were the only pair of clothes he'd brought with him, even the jeans had scorch marks along the cuffs and his converses were practically crispy.

He could see his breath rising ghostlike towards the dark horizon, but the heater in his room was broken, and he wanted to get a look at the city. He huddled down against the oil drum; _maybe a little fire won't hurt anything. It's just a little one_. A dull glow illuminated around his body. Red sparks of light shone in his blue eyes. He snapped the fingers of his right hand, shading it from the wind with his left, and a tongue of flame danced across his fingertips. He pulled out a slightly flattened hamburger from his pocket with his left hand as the flame trickled like water over his right, and held it in his mouth as he peeled off the wrapper. He crumpled it into a ball and dropped it by his feet. He lowered his right hand down to the wrapper and the flame jumped obediently to the paper. He took a bite of the hamburger and pulled it out of his mouth. It was cold and the bun was stale, but he had to finish it.

Alfred chewed and watched the tongues of flame lick at the paper. It curled up like a black rose, giving off more light than heat, but even that was comforting. He leaned his arms on his knees and took another bite. It almost made him gag.

He had no plan, no more clothes, and only enough money for a few more hamburgers if he kept up this rate. The city was huge and he hardly spoke a word of Japanese. He hadn't even thought about that when he left, he just had to get away from the smell of smoke, from the ashes clinging to his hair and clothes and lungs. But even out here he couldn't get away. He licked his fingers when he was done, mostly to get off the drips of ketchup and pickle juice, and leaned his head back against the oil drum. What was he supposed to do now? The wrapper was just a few red cinders now, but he stamped his foot through them, grinding them into the rooftop. Fire, that's all he ever knew. He looked up at the salt-sprinkling of stars, outshining even the flashing lights of the city. His mother had always said there was a star out there just for him, back before the moon was lost. Oh, how right she was, but how could she ever understand what that really meant. His own star, always watching. But what had that ever done for him? What had that done for her as she lay writhing on the floor, wreathed in flames?

"What the Hell do you want me to do?" He shouted to the sky. "I thought you were supposed to look out for me? Just send me a sign. Tell me where to go." He waited while his voice echoed off the surrounding buildings which crouched drunkenly on each other for support. The heavens didn't seem likely to respond, and why did he think they ever would?

Alfred was just about head back inside when he noticed a flash of light across the sky. _Another Contractor dead? _He looked up at the stars, expecting to see a star diving down below the dark scar of Hell's Gate, but the light was far too bright. He pushed his glasses farther up his nose to get a good look. An angry red gash burned across the sky, getting bigger as it fell. That sure as hell wasn't another star. Alfred pushed off from the oil drum, scattering ashes to the wind, and scrambled down the fire-escape, almost tumbling off, before he took off running, looking up to the horizon.


	3. The Syndicate

Arthur scanned the sky for any sign of falling stars. No luck. Damn, the bastard was still alive somewhere. Partner, they called him. More of a bloody nuisance. He would have been done with the job and back at his apartment sipping tea and reading the newspaper if the idiot didn't feel the need to prance around, drawing things out. It was like playing with your food, bad manners to all those involved.

He leaned back against the wall and tried to look down the alleys, still no sign. He pulled out a cigarette from the inside of his trench coat, tucking the end unlit into the corner of his mouth. It was too dangerous to light it, it might alert someone in the building across the street, but even the feel of it in his mouth was comforting. The bastard was probably off flirting somewhere, while he was stuck freezing his ass off in the dark. How did he end up working with such scum, him, a dignified agent of the MI6? No, not any more. He couldn't go back there after what happened. That was why he was stuck in this Hellhole as a lapdog of the shadow-empire the Syndicate. _I used to fight for something_. _But no, ideals won't pay the rent won't they?_ He sighed heavily and folded his arms around his chest. He was going to get pneumonia at this rate. He had just closed his eyes and settled in for a long wait when a small voice squeaked by his ear.

"Arthur, Francis found him." Arthur jumped and dropped his cigarette into a puddle, cursing, and spun around. A younger boy materialized out of the shadows, becoming more solid as he stepped closer. He stared up timidly from smudged glasses under a mess of limp blond curls.

"Damn it Matthew. Don't sneak up on me like that." Matthew stumbled out an apology and looked as if he was trying to curl up in a ball. "Well, where is he?" Matthew opened his mouth to answer when a hand snaked its way down the back of Arthur's neck. He spun around, a white glow emanating from his skin.

Behind him, a voluptuous blond pouted and batted her thick eyelashes. She ran her bright red nails across the nape of his neck, leaning in close to whisper,

"Anything I can do for you? It's so cold out here. You must be looking for a little heat." She leaned in to pull gently at the lobe of his ear with her teeth, rubbing her thigh against his leg. Arthur snarled and pushed her away roughly.

"Stop fooling around you idiot." A much deeper voice let out a sigh and Arthur could see the flash of a Contract behind him.

"You never let me have any fun, Arthur."

"What have you found, Francis? Is this the place?"

"You doubt me? After all we've been through?" He flicked his blond curls out of his face and tugged at his short cropped beard with long fingers. Even now he had a hand perched haughtily on one hip.

"No, I doubt you _because_ of it," Arthur grumbled. Francis slid an arm around Matthew's shoulders and the boy gave a little squeak.

"Sh, mon petit cheri," he cooed as he ran a finger through the little curl that stuck up on Matthew's head. He flicked his blue eyes up at Arthur. "It's them all right, and they have the Doll with them. There are two human guards and a Contractor. Hotshot bodybuilder type. He'll be no trouble. The Doll's being kept in the second floor apartment, last door on the right." Arthur shoved roughly past him.

"I don't want to know what you had to do to get that information." Francis gave a coy little smile as he was pushed aside. Arthur headed across the street without looking back. Behind him, he heard Francis telling Matthew to stay out of the way, and to go back to the meeting point if they weren't back in an hour. The boy would be no use in there. He pulled out his lock picks and set to work on the door. The lock sprung open in a matter of seconds and Arthur pushed it open with his hip. He reached inside his coat pocket for his pistol and clicked off the safety. He could feel Francis slide in the door behind him. He let Francis lead the way, and looked around himself for possible signs of an exit. It was a dingy apartment complex, with water stains climbing the peeling wallpaper and tottering bannisters. The stairs didn't creak at least. Francis paused at the last door on the right, and motioned with his head. Arthur circled to the other side of the door and waited, trying to control his heartbeat.

"Come on, you bastard, now or never." He leaned backwards and kicked the door, sending it flying off one hinge. Francis darted inside, gun raised, and took careful aim. The room was dark except for a flickering floor lamp in the corner, but Arthur saw one man slump over the table as Francis pulled the trigger, a pool of blood spreading from his downturned face. Arthur turned to the other side of the wall in the same instant, sighting a second man trying to pick up his rifle from the floor. Obviously they had been planning on keeping cooped up here for a while. He pulled the trigger and the man fell backwards, blood spraying the flowered wallpaper. Arthur was just about to reload when a roar shook the floor. A huge man came rushing at him from the shadows beyond the lamplight, illuminated by a white glow. His eyes were pinpricks of red light. He saw a jet of flame erupting from the huge man's hand and ducked just in time, rolling behind a mildewy couch that burst into flame. _No problem, Francis said_. _If we get out of this alive, I'm going to kill him_. The huge man came charging through the room, knocking the couch aside. He was on fire now, and Arthur could smell burning flesh. Arthur took aim, but the man turned at the last second, and the bullet sank into his arm instead of his head. He backed away behind the couch again as the Contractor, blinded by the fire, flailed across the room. Arthur looked around and saw a flash as Francis' Contract ignited. Francis leapt forward and, in midair, shifted into a pale wolf.

He lunged at the burning man's arm, grabbing and twisting so they both fell to the floor. He ripped at muscle and tendons as Arthur took aim, this time for the head. The Contractor Shuddered once and fell limp. Finally. What a botch job. Arthur ran a hand over his face. With a crack of bones sliding back into place, Francis straightened up.

"Damn, I've singed my hair," he whined as he leaned over the body of one of the dead men, turning him face up. He leaned down, careful to hold his hair out of the blood, and pressed his lips gently to the dead man's.

"Ugh, what a distasteful Remuneration, Francis. Really." Francis smiled up at him wickedly and wiped away the blood from his face. "And where is the damn Doll? It had better be here after all of that." He waved vaguely at the carnage behind them.

"Over in the closet there." Francis motioned. He smothered the flames with a moth-eaten blanket while Arthur opened the closet. It was barely three feet wide and smothered in shadows.

"Bring the lamp over," Arthur called over his shoulder. But by the time Francis had made his way back across the room, there was no need for a light. With a dull thump, a body fell forwards out of the closet. Arthur watched as the Doll writhed on the floor, fingers twitching like spiders across the linoleum, head rolling from side to side. Bloody red foam dripped from its mouth. It tried to claw at its eyes, raking angry red lines down its face. "Burning," it screeched as it spasmed. "The world is burning. They're all falling." Francis and Arthur stared at each other over the spasming body.

Outside, Matthew stared up at a red gash burning through the night sky.


	4. The Hunter

Ludwig sat on the small cot, the only piece of furniture in his apartment, with the pieces of his revolver spread out around him. He polished each piece, turning them over to catch the light, each one reflecting his ice blue eyes, and replaced them in the same spot on the bed. He had drawn the curtains closed so he wouldn't have to look up at the false stars. Each one seemed a personal insult to him, each one a jeering face.

_They used to be our stars, back when there was a moon. We would sit up at night, after hauling our telescope onto the roof, and you would point out every constellation. They always seemed so permanent, so much bigger than ourselves. But what now? What does it mean when you can kill a star_? He finished clicking all the parts back in place and used the butt of the gun to push back the curtains, hoping to see one fall. A flash of red light caught his eye as it shot towards the outline of the city.

_I will find you. I will shoot down every star in this sky until I find you. And once I do, yours will fall straight down past the Gate, straight down to Hell_.


	5. The Frozen Man

Natalia pulled her coat tighter about her shoulders and stormed ahead of them, boots crunching crisply on the dirty snow. Everything in this town was coated in coal dust, even the new falling snow. Ivan hung back with Ekaterina, not wanting to turn Natalia's rage on him. Natalia's stark white hair stood out against the smudgy buildings around them, strikingly bright. Ivan could tell she was fingering the stilettos tucked into her pocket, checking obsessively to make sure they were all secured in the secret folds of her jacket. Even he didn't know how many she had. Ivan tucked his grey scarf over his nose, hoping to conserve some sort of heat. He was used to the cold; its scrabbling fingers always clutched at his skin, but his nose was starting to go numb. Alongside him, Ekaterina practically skipped along the silver train tracks. She had a childish smile plastered to her face and bright red earmuffs tucked over her short platinum hair in place of her normal green headband. She hummed softly to herself. She was the only one who seemed to be enjoying the trip to the Russian countryside.

"Hurry up," Natalia shot over her shoulder. "We'll be late and the General is already not pleased." They stopped at a ramshackle shack, made out of nothing more than sheet metal and wooden clapboards. She gave a complicated series of knocks and the door opened from the inside. Two KGB guards with semi-automatics greeted them with a grunt. Natalia threw them a murderous look and they let the three of them past. The room was too dark, and too small, and Ivan could feel his skin crawling. He could feel the eyes watching from across the room, eyes cold enough to freeze your blood in your veins. An old man sat hunched at a table against the wall. He wore a thick fur hat, even indoors, and his breath wisped away like frost on a window.

"General Winter," Natalia greeted, giving a stiff salute. Ekaterina gave a low bow, but Ivan threw down a manila folder he had been storing under his coat. It slid across the table, right under the downcast face of the General. The old man looked up slowly.

"Have some respect, you Contractor mongrels," one of the guards growled, stepping forwards. He swung the butt of his gun at Ivan's face with a snarl, hate flaring in his eyes. Contractors were not well loved, even here. Ivan grabbed the gun without flinching and twisted the guard's arm up behind his back with his other hand. The General cracked his knuckles, like the crunching of ice on a river, and leaned forwards over the table.

"No, Ivan. That's enough."

"Heel, you rabid dog," the guard spit over his shoulder. Ivan gave a shove up into the guard's shoulder and released him. The guard stumbled forwards and glared over his shoulder. Next to him, Natalia stood rigid, staring at him unapprovingly. Ekaterina seemed unphased. She smiled pleasantly.

"I hope your cold is better General," she trilled, rocking back and forth on her heels with her hands clasped behind her back.

"The cold is in my bones, child. For that there is no cure. But, it reminds me how fragile we all are, how mortal." He fixed Ivan with a frozen stare. "Is this all you found?"

"They had burned the rest by the time we arrived, General. They poured gasoline over the entire laboratory, including the patients and the files, and set it alight. This was all we could salvage," Natalia supplied.

"We could hear the screeching from a mile away. All we found were burnt husks, burned as they tried to claw the door down." Ivan fixed his gaze at the General, who seemed unphased by this.

"Next time you should tread more lightly so they don't know you're coming. Maybe then we'd have some witnesses to interrogate." He slit the file open with a bony finger and tipped out its contents. The room was silent as he read.

"Not a total waste I see. They were researching a cure to the Contractor process it seems, though no headway was made. Even our great Union is still baffled by the process. There's no way some anarchist faction would be able make a breakthrough." He threw the papers down and pressed his fingers into a steeple under his chin. His eyes were sunken in hollow sockets, his skin hanging limp and yellowing about his face.

"But your conduct was still deplorable. I heard you murdered our only witness."

"Yes, General," Ivan said through gritted teeth. His violet eyes flared. "She was barely alive. She would not have survived such burns, and was obviously incoherent. She just kept crying something about the sky falling and the world set on fire. It was a mercy killing sir."

"If I wanted mercy, if I wanted emotions at all I would call for a human, do you understand that? You are a Contractor, a cold blooded killer. You don't feel anything, and you don't understand. You have no right to be making such decisions. You will kill who I tell you to, and when I say bring back prisoners, you will bring back prisoners."

"Yes General."

"Sir, she really was beyond saving."

"Hush, Ekaterina. It doesn't matter now. What's dead is dead. You cost me evidence, Ivan. You cost the Union. Now leave my sight." He flicked his corpse fingers and Ivan turned abruptly to go. He shoved past the guards at the door and out into the night. Snow was wisping through the air, whipped up by a finger of wind. It tasted like ash on his tongue. A few oil lamps shone greasily, but they were outshone by the open sky. _How many stars had fallen that day, burning to a crisp in that cold white hospital_? He pulled his scarf up over his nose again to hide his face. He was growing tired of the cold. Up above him a red light burned.


	6. The Girl who Looks to Stars

Elizabeta licked her fingers clean of powdered donut and turned back to the clipboard an intern had handed her. She hardly understood all this astrological shit, but it did give a clearer picture of Contractor movements throughout the city. Apparently, or so Roderich had explained, a star's brightness peaked every time its Contractor used their powers. The chart showed a spike in brightness from two known Contractors, codenamed Ghost and Mime until their identities were confirmed. This corresponded quite nicely with the falling of another star, a certain Codename Pyro that they had been monitoring. _Fine, let them kill each other. It makes my job easier_. Roderich came up behind her and pushed his glasses farther up his nose to examine the charts.

"That's a new one. I haven't seen it before," he murmured to himself as he pointed down to another smaller jagged line. "There's a new Contractor in the city." His heels clicked across the floor as he headed to the door. "I'm just going to pop down to Astronomy and see what they make of it," he called over his shoulder. Elizabeta pushed her chair back and gave a stretch.

"I'll come too; I've been sitting here for hours." She grabbed the clipboard and followed him to the elevator. Roderich pressed the button for the top floor and they both stood in silence.

"Why are you here anyways, Elizabeta?"

"Huh?" she pushed a strand of long brown hair behind her ear and smiled. "I had more work to do."

"No, I mean, why are you working for the Pandora Police. A girl like you, you can't enjoy all this Contractor mess." She shrugged.

"Someone has to deal with it. And if I'm not here, what's to keep the Contractors from running wild?"

"I think if you get a few hours of sleep, the Contractors will still be waiting. The world won't crash down if you rest for a day." By then the door had opened and Elizabeta strolled into the Astronomy department. Men and women bustled about in lab coats, checking dials and monitors on tubes like crisp white ants. The ceiling was a curved dome covered in diagrams of the new night sky, marked with labels of important Contractors. Tubes lining the walls were filled with floating bodies, Dolls which were hooked up to a main computer to track the labeled Contractors of the city. The Dolls always set her on edge, their white eyes staring at her from all sides, but overall she enjoyed the bustle of the Astronomy department. It kept her awake on late nights. A young man sauntered over, tucking a pen back into his lab coat pocket.

"What can I do for you today, Liz?"

"Hey Feliks. It seems we have a new Contractor in the city, or so Roderich says. Have you noticed any unusual activity?" He chewed absentmindedly on his lip and twirled his hair around a finger. He always had a dreamy look on his face. _He's stuck in the stars, that one_.

"Well, nothing new as far as, like, stars, so it must not be, like, a newly created Contractor. But we have been noticing some sun spots. It could mean anything, or like nothing. But always good to keep in mind."

"Right, sunspots. I'll remember." She rolled her eyes at Roderich as Feliks turned around to check a monitor.

"Well, last time we had this kind of activity was, like, when Heaven's Gate disappeared, along with most of South America. We still can't get planes over it. It's still there somewhere; we just can't get to it." Just then, all the monitors across the room started beeping furiously, flashing red. Interns rushed to tubes, pressing buttons hurriedly. In the nearest tube, a Doll started to flail wildly, beating at the glass around them and ripping at its breathing tubes.

"What the Hell is happening?" She asked Roderich. He shook his head, dumbfounded as the other Dolls began to spasm. The whole room was filled with eerie beeping as interns stared wide-mouthed at the Dolls.

"They can't even move," Feliks gasped, turning round and round. "They can't move." One Doll began to shriek, an inhuman sound horribly muffled by the glass of the tube. The other Dolls took up the call, their bright white eyes flashing, fingers scrabbling at slippery glass.

"The world, it's burning," a Doll screeched. All the interns rushed over as one mob to stare at the tube. Another Doll across the room cried out.

"They're all falling. They're falling." A third,

"My eyes, they're falling in my eyes. The stars." Then the whole room was filled with the shrieks of Dolls.

"The sky is falling. The sky is burning. The stars are dropping like rain."


	7. Chapter 2: Orbit

**A Look through the Doll's Eyes**: I can see many things at once, through time and worlds. But you are confined to a single line, riding the wave of time without really seeing how it flows. But our web has many threads, and they only connect at the center, so each chapter will follow all of our stars on their journey through the night's sky, split up by character. This is only the start of our second chapter.

Orbit

The planets orbit the sun, but will they wheel into collision or towards the darkness of space? Pandora calls them closer, closer to Hell, as in the sky, a red light burns. Constellations form and fall. Eyes are thrown to the sky, searching for answers, for direction. The red comet draws closer, and so do our stars. And once they align, the sky will begin to fall.


	8. The Frozen Man and the Girl of Steel

Natalia hurried out of the General's briefing room, hoping to find Ivan waiting outside. He had a habit of wandering. She wished she could understand what he was thinking, why he'd killed that girl. He was the one who'd given the order to look for survivors in the first place. Contractors, they were so difficult to work with. The crisp night was empty, he must have walked off. Natalia fingered one of her blades absentmindedly. It was a bad habit, but their presence helped her relax. She had been so helpless, but not anymore. Now where was he? Natalia stormed around to the back of the ramshackle building, and there he was, framed pale against the sickly lamplight. He was looking up to the stars, his breath a dying wisp of frost clinging to the darkness. Only a pale slice of his face was illuminated, mercury white, inset with his violet eyes. His scarf grasped at the air like reaching hands. Natalia halted, feet crunching in the snow. She just couldn't understand him, that blatant show of force in the briefing room. What was he trying to do? He still hadn't noticed her. She dug her hands into her coat pockets and shuffled closer.

"What the hell were you doing in there, Ivan? After all the General has done for us." He didn't look at her, just up at the stars.

"How many stars fell that day, for a useless envelope?"

"Don't talk like that. It's our job to act, not to ask why. You're a Contractor, Ivan, start acting like one." She pulled out one of her stilettos and started flipping it in her palm. It became a wheeling line of silver in the dark. There was nothing more beautiful than that arc of light. "Stop pretending you feel something you don't. You'll do something you'll regret." In a second he was looming over her. He could stand so still that she forgot how fast he moved. She caught the knife again and he clenched her fingers in his fist, leaning over so the mist from his breath billowed over her face.

"What do you know about what I am? They all think I'm a monster, but you're the real monster. I never asked for this," he hissed between clenched teeth, squeezing her fingers tighter. The knife slipped from her hand, dropping lost into the snow. "You have a choice. You were never commanded to kill, but you think you have the right to rip away lives. You're colder than all the rest of us." Natalia flicked her other hand inside of her jacket and another knife slid into her palm. Instead of pulling away from his grasp, she leaned closer. She ran her hand over his face, running the flat of the blade along his skin. He stood frozen as the cold metal brushed his face. She could do it, too. Just a flick of the wrist and it would be over; the snow would be bathed in red. Oh, she was so fond of red. Anything to drown out all this white.

"No, Ivan," she cooed, brushing back his pale hair with the tip of her knife. She pressed herself up against him, but there was no warmth there. _If I cut him will he even bleed, or is his blood frozen in his veins_? His hand still crushed her fingers. "You are a monster, such a beautiful monster. Killing is all you know, all you'll ever know. Go on, break me, crush me in your hands." She almost wished he would, that pain so sweet. Her fingers itched to turn the knife onto its blade, to carve weeping patterns into that frozen face. "Just admit it. All you'll ever be is a beast on a chain." His eyes flared. "Does that anger you? Just do it. It's all you'll ever be able to do. Come on now. Do it." She knew she had a manic smile on her face as she screamed the words, but couldn't control it. Her blood was pounding hot in her head. He threw her hand down and shoved her roughly away. He hit her solidly across the face. She landed in a pile of dirty snow. A trickle of blood ran along Ivan's jaw from where her knife had slipped. He let it drip onto the pale snow. _So he does bleed_. That made her laugh harder.

"I will not let you turn me into a monster." His face was twisted in anger, lips pulled back over bared teeth. Natalia could taste blood at the back of her mouth. Her head rang and her vision was blurred. She laughed hysterically.

"You already are one," she growled from a split lip, licking at the blood with a darting tongue. _Such a beautiful beast._

Ivan leaned over her, pressing his shaking fists to his side. Below him, Natalia bit down on her bloody lip, pulling the ripped skin apart and sending another trickle of blood down her pale chin. Her tongue flicked across her mouth like a snake. She laughed wildly, inhumanly, baring red teeth. _Disgusting. You are human, but you are so much less than we are_. He drew back his foot and stomped down hard on her head. She slouched into the snow, her stiletto dropping from her hand. The blood was freezing on his face, and he wiped it away callously with the back of his hand.

The wind had started to pick up, but he didn't seem to notice. He was used to the cold. _It's all you'll ever know_. He shook his head and turned around. Natalia groaned behind him, sprawled out on the snow. Her white hair ran like hoarfrost across her face. _Maybe she'll freeze out here. Then, I'll be free. _But no, not another one lost to the cold. He unbuttoned his coat and draped it across her where she lay in the snow. He barely seemed to notice the winter chill. Natalia's fingers wrapped around the thick fur lining and she burrowed deeper into it. She looked such a child there. _Children are capable of the cruelest things, though_. His hand went automatically to his neck, to the scarf wrapped safely round it. _No greater monster than a child_.

Ivan noticed the shine of steel in the snow and picked up Natalia's dropped blade. It winked red from his blood in the lamplight. _Someday, I will give this back to you_. He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and headed away from the ramshackle village. He ambled, ghostlike through the world of white and black, feet making no sound in the snow. He looked to the sky, watching the etching of red across the darkness. There was fire there, warmth, and it was coming closer. If only he could find it. Behind him, there was a crunch of boots. He whirled around, flipping out the throwing knife.

"Wait, Ivan. It's only me." Ekaterina smiled up at him. Her short hair was pushed back behind her earmuffs again and her face was flushed; she had probably been running. "I just wanted to catch you before you left."

"Why do you think I'm leaving?" She shrugged her shoulders and swung back and forth on her heels, humming to herself. She pointed a gloved finger to the sky.

"It's your torch isn't it, your way out of here? From the moment you saw it, you knew you couldn't stay here." He didn't want to ask her how she came to those conclusions. Usually he could feel when she was in his head, like a shape in the corner of his eye that he could never focus on. But, he had felt nothing. This was something more than that.

"Aren't you going to stop me, call me back for the good of the Union, run off and tell Winter?" She shook her head with an impish smile.

"No, you can't stay here any longer, not after what you did to Natalia." She started to skip, tripping in the snow like a child. She kept her face to him, like she was hiding something behind her back. Instinctively, Ivan followed.

"I can't just leave, Ekaterina. What will the General do to you once he finds you let me go? What will _Natalia_ do?"

"As far as the General knows, he saw me head towards the barracks just a minute ago. He will also see me walking towards the dining hall in about ten minutes." Ivan stared angrily at the snow under his feet. What a gross misuse of her Contract. He couldn't let her extend herself like that; there was always the risk that not all of her would make it back. She peered at his downturned face, guessing what he was thinking. "Don't worry about us, Ivan. Other people need you more than we do right now. Things can't get started without you." They had stopped by an empty train track. Metal rails snaked through the snow like mercury serpents, seeming alive in the dim light.

"Wait, what things? Ekaterina, tell me what's going on." She gave a nervous laugh.

"I don't really know. But, I know you have to go. There's a freight train that runs through here. Hop on the next one that passes by. It will take you where you need to be. Goodbye Ivan. The General will send us after you, but just keep running. Don't ever come back here. There is nothing here for you. You are alone now." _No, I am always alone_.

"But, Ekaterina, where am I going?" She smiled sadly and held out a bundle that she had been holding behind her back. It was another warm coat: tan, and long enough to fall around his knees, in the pocket were a pair of warm leather gloves. There was a sunflower tucked between the folded sleeves, the petals crisp and drying.

"To Hell, Ivan, but it must be cold there, because you'll need these."


	9. The Consolation Prize

Arthur dropped the Doll back to the ground where it spasmed once and lay still. Its blue eyes stared unseeing to the singed ceiling, its mouth parted and dribbling bloody froth. Arthur sighed and reached his hand down gently, brushing closed the blank eyes. Next to him, Francis leaned back on his heels, running a hand through his hair.

"What now? We can't just go back empty-handed," he asked. Arthur glared up at the taller man through his shock of blond hair.

"What, should we bring the body? Yao would love that. It's your bloody fault that we got into this mess. 'No trouble' you said. My ass." Francis puffed up his chest, obviously hurt. They both knew something more was happening here, but Arthur couldn't acknowledge that. He wouldn't let things get out of his control, not after what happened back in MI6. It was easier to have someone to blame. Francis was just about to return with a retort when they heard a stifled cry from outside. Both men jumped to their feet, glancing out the window.

"Matthew," Francis gasped, and they raced down the stairs leaving the bodies sprawled across the floor. They clicked back their safeties as they rushed out the door, searching the dark street for a sign of the boy. Arthur saw the dull glow of a contract ignite across the street, probably Matthew, and signaled for Francis to cross to the opposite corner.

"Whoa, sorry. Didn't see you there," an unknown voice called into the night. But as the glow spread across Matthew, the voice proclaimed, "Oh shit." A second light sparked in the dark. Damn it, another contractor. The glow illuminated a man, no a boy really, backing slowly away from Matthew, who was huddled against the wall. Red light glinted off the boy's glasses. Arthur could hear Matthew whimper as the other boy's Contract lit, both frozen staring at each other. Like as not, Matthew's Contract was near useless. Even if he did go invisible, he was frozen in place. Him and his crippling fear.

Francis cocked back his pistol, trying to aim for the second glow, but they were too close together. Arthur held up his hand, pushing the barrel aside.

"You'll hit Matthew."

* * *

Alfred ran, his breath and the pounding of his feet on the pavement beating out a strange taboo. He let his head fall back to the sky, tracing out the red scar on the night. He didn't care where he was going, it didn't matter so long as he was moving. The cold wind blowing between the derelict buildings whipped his face raw and he reveled in it, pushing everything behind him. He started laughing as he ran, turning corner after corner, egged on by the sickly halo of street lamps. A foot in front of the other, he could do that. He was running too fast for air, he imagined, his breath catching in his throat, tripping over the bubbling laughter. He was racing the stars. _I'll make it to Hell before you. They're all waiting. Don't worry, I'm coming. I'll be home soon. _He laughed harder at that. Going home. Where in the Hell was that anyways? He smashed his eyes shut, blacking out the path of the stars. They couldn't control him, not if he kept on running.

He turned corner after corner, counting footsteps, counting heartbeats. 1,2,3, a happy family. 4,5,6, set fire to the sticks. 7,8,9 no one gets out in time. 10, 11, there is no heaven. His lungs were burning; his throat was raw; he couldn't stop now if he wanted to. He slammed into something solid and bounded off, skidding across the pavement. Whatever he hit gave a squeaking cry and a thump as it too hit the ground.

Alfred opened his eyes to look at a stunned boy across from him who was simultaneously trying to find his thick glasses and motor backwards away from Alfred on his hands. He jammed his glasses onto his round face and gulped down a breath, deciding whether or not to scream again. Apparently, it didn't seem like a good idea, because he just grabbed tighter onto his satchel and tried to curl into a ball. Alfred got shakily to his feet, pushing himself up painfully with his skinned palms. He was jarred back to the present, and was feeling lightheaded.

"Whoa, I'm sorry," he tried to stumble out. "I didn't see you there." There was a soft clicking sound in the night, almost like a gun cocking, and Alfred froze. The boy whimpered and a pale glow flickered around him. "Oh shit," Alfred gasped. Not here too. Not thousands of miles away. Alfred felt the prickle of his contract rising on his skin. They weren't going to take him after all this. Alfred stood, his whole body tense, waiting for the other boy to move. He just stood there, quivering, clutching at his satchel.

Then there was a spark in the night, another Contract bloomed in the dark. Alfred turned, watching a form rise up into the sky, a blond halo whipping around its head. A long trench coat fluttered like wings about its legs. Alfred paused for a second, catching a glimpse of emerald and the telltale pinpricks of red amid the whirling bangs. It held out its hands and Alfred felt an upwards tug. His feet scraped the pavement; he was falling upwards. He heard himself scream.

The ground twisted under him, or did he twist above it, and he was facing down at the street, fifteen feet up in the air.

"Stop screaming," a voice called out, low and exasperated. "You'll call the police over, and I might just get excited and drop you." The floating figure clasped its fingers to its palms and Alfred dropped a foot before being pulled to a stop again. He felt his stomach lurch, looking down at the cracked sidewalk. The other contractor watched him cautiously from down below, still shaking.

"I…I won't. Just put me down." He tried to turn himself around by swinging his arms. It managed to twist him upside down and he flailed, trying to right himself. His glasses slipped off and clattered on the pavement.

"Don't move, contractor. If you ignite your contract I _will_ drop you. Now what are you doing here?"

"I was just passing through and…" he felt another sudden drop and plummeted another few feet.

"Cut the crap. Who do you work for, and why did you kill that Doll?"

"I have no clue what you're talking about. I would love to help, really," he explained as he tried to paddle himself upright, twisting his arms in circles. It just made him swing dangerously side to side. He tried to turn his head right side up to look at the floating figure, who, even at this blurry distance, was obviously exasperated. "Couldn't we continue this discussion on the ground?"

"We're not going to get anything out of him. Just let me shoot him now before he uses that Contract," another voice with a thick slurred accent piped up.

"Oh shut up, you git. We can't just go back empty-handed."

"Yeah, listen to that one," Alfred insisted, pointing at the glowing figure, who seemed to be arguing with his feet. With his Contractor glow around him, Alfred couldn't see anything in the shadows.

"And you shut up too. I can still kill you, you know. It means nothing to me. " The figure pointed a hand at him.

"All I want is to be safe back on the ground. Really, I have nothing to do with this. Just put me down." He was getting dizzy, his head ringing. He squinted, trying to make out the floating form. He thought he saw a smile.

"Fine, as you wish." The figure threw up its hands and Alfred felt a jerk, then he was falling.

* * *

Alfred woke to a room covered in rose petals and cigarette smoke. He could also smell the cloying sweetness of what seemed to be pancakes. His stomach heaved and he doubled over coughing. His shoulders jammed painfully into his back and ropes bit into his wrists. He tried to wriggle his hands free, but they were bound tightly behind his back. Where the Hell was his little apartment? Then the pain rushed back into his head and he remembered.

He scanned the room, panicked. Light shone in through strips under broken blinds, casting bars across a bare room. A figure lay draped across a couch against the wall, seemingly asleep. He could hear a soft metallic clang from another room, and a low sizzling. A chair screeched across tile floors and a man stood up from the shadows of the corner. Rose petals drifted off of his lap, shining red in the spotty light. His heels clicked over tiles as he walked across the room towards him. He pulled out a pair of black leather gloves and slipped them on, tugging them down around his wrists and flexing his fingers.

"Who are you?" Alfred gasped as the man walked closer, green eyes shining under thick brows.

"Ah ah now," the man hissed as he leaned over him. "I'm the one who'll be asking the questions here." Alfred gulped uncomfortably, staring up at him. His long bangs brushed against Alfred's forehead, the smell of cigarettes ghosted over his face. Alfred fought to suppress a shudder under those cold eyes. He wrapped a hand around Alfred's neck, jarring his head back on his spine. He pushed on Alfred's throat, flashing a bright smirk. "Now then," he hissed, almost in his ear. "Who do you work for?"

"Arthur," a voice lisped lazily from the couch. "Try to keep the interrogation to a quiet roar will you. My head is killing me." Behind the man, the figure on the couch turned onto his side, long hair falling over his face. The man, presumably Arthur, released the pressure on Alfred's neck suddenly and straightened up with a growl.

"Shut up you drunkard. Is it too much to have a little professional respect?" A wine bottle sailed through the air from the couch as an answer, rattling onto a growing pile on the floor. A trail of red wine dribbled across the tiles like blood.

"Are you CIA or something?" Alfred asked. Arthur turned back around, shoving Alfred's chair over with one foot placed between Alfred's legs until Alfred's head slammed into the wall.

"Do I _sound_ like bloody CIA?" He leaned over, one hand placed against the wall, eyes dark under thick brows.

"Well, no, not really. But, then what do you want from me?"

"What were you doing out there in the middle of the night?"

"I swear. I was just walking along. I wasn't going anywhere. There's nowhere to go. I was just following that star." He tried to point to the window, but winced as his restraints bit into his skin. "Just look for yourself. I've never seen anything like it." Arthur stared down his nose at him for a moment then dropped his foot from between Alfred's legs, sending his chair dropping forwards with a rattling which shook Alfred's teeth in his skull.

He clicked over to the window, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a match from his pocket. The dull red glow illuminated his face. He looked young, younger than Alfred had expected, and wasn't nearly as tall as he seemed when looming over him. He was a slight thing really, barely older than him and much frailer. Barely more than a boy with a scruffy shock of hair. Nothing to be afraid of, right? But a pistol glinted on his hip.

Arthur pushed back the blinds. Behind him, the man on the couch groaned and turned over. Up in the sky, the light burned its way across the sky like an eye weeping blood, etching out a red line in the night.

"Burning," Arthur whispered, clutching the cigarette in his teeth. "The sky is falling." He breathed out deeply and the cigarette glowed into red life. Alfred shivered.

"See. I had nothing to do with your Doll. Really. I was just following that." Arthur turned back around, throwing the room into darkness.

"Why were you chasing after some star?" Alfred shrugged, meeting his gaze.

"I needed something to follow."

Arthur pushed the boy in front of him. Behind him, Francis lounged. The drunkard was probably trying his hardest to stay upright. Matthew cowered behind both of them, eying the strange boy. Arthur paused, pulling open a thick door to a dingy-looking grocers, heralded by the tinkling of the little bell that announced a customer, and pushed the boy inside. He stumbled into a rack of cans and plopped onto the floor.

"Aiya," Arthur heard over the rows of food. A young Chinese man turned the corner, rubbing his hands on the front of his shirt. His long black ponytail flicked over his shoulder angrily. "You break it, you buy it. Oh…you." He looked up at the three of them crowding the doorway. "What is it now?" His dark eyes flicked to the door and the window, looking out into the streets to see if anyone had noticed anything strange. He folded his long hands in his sleeves and looked down at the boy sprawled among the cans, raising an eyebrow. "That doesn't look like a Doll to me." Arthur pulled the boy up with one arm around the ropes tying his hands behind his back.

"The Doll died. We brought a Contractor instead. If you don't want him, Yao, we'll take him somewhere else." Yao motioned exasperatedly with one hand, wide sleeve fluttering through the air.

"Better than nothing. Probably had something to do with that star, no?" He jabbed a finger towards the ceiling. "Dolls have been going crazy across the city. Even the Astrologists at Pandora have been having problems."

"And you know this how?" Francis asked, one hand on his hip. He had picked up a bottle of white wine and was inspecting the label. Yao reached over and plucked it out of his hands.

"Little birds make a lot of chatter." He placed the bottle on a shelf out of reach. "Now what have you brought me?" He leaned over and pulled off the blindfold wrapped around the boy's face. He glared around at them with angry blue eyes. Yao poked and prodded him with long fingers, turning his head from side to side like he was inspecting a horse.

"Hey, watch it will you?" the boy exclaimed as Yao jabbed him in the stomach.

"I guess he'll have to do. The Syndicate won't be happy you know." He turned to Arthur and Francis. "They expect better. None of this half-assed work. I'll just go back and see what they want done with this thing, then I'll take him off your hands."

"Wait, the Syndicate's here?" Francis asked.

"Of course. You don't think they'll just let me deal with you rabid dogs on your own. If I had my own way, I'd never deal with Contractors. They always leave a mess." He waved vaguely at the rubbish on the floor. "Now try not to steal anything." He turned to leave, soft shoes swishing on the floor.

It took all of Arthur's concentration not to go running after him. The Syndicate was this close. One bullet and it would all be over. He'd be free of this shadow empire. He could finally put his past behind him. His fingers itched. But then, as quickly as he'd left, Yao returned, a frown plastered on his face.

"Well, just take him. He's made enough of a mess already." Arthur shoved the boy forwards, but Yao pushed him back.

"No, you're to keep him. The Syndicate is interested in his development."

"We aren't babysitters," Arthur growled.

"I'm not a child. And I'm not some piece of property. Don't I get a say in any of this?" Arthur pulled sharply on his ropes and the boy winced.

"No, no you don't." No, not with the Syndicate. No one has a say in that. The sooner he learned that, the easier it would be. Outside a black car rolled by the store, and Arthur felt the hackles on the back of his neck rise. Someone was watching. His fingers itched. It was so close.

"The Syndicate feels you could do with another member to your team." Arthur snorted at that. Some team. "And you'll need it. You're next assignment is to find information on the falling star. You'll be breaking into the Astrology Department of Pandora."


End file.
